


Hawksilver Drabbles

by Syrum



Series: Avengers Tumblr Prompts [5]
Category: The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Fluff, M/M, Prompt Fic, Romance, Sappy, Tumblr Prompt
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-09-29
Updated: 2015-09-29
Packaged: 2018-04-23 23:43:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 4,569
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4896799
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Syrum/pseuds/Syrum
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A series of Hawksilver drabbles from my Tumblr, triggered from an OTP post (linked within if you're interested).</p><p>While these are presently sappy/fluffy/romantic ficlets based on the points in the original post, I'll add to these as and when I write more, so this isn't finished yet.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. One making awful breakfast for the other and the other eating it because they appreciate it that much

**Author's Note:**

> Here's the post that triggered these;
> 
> http://syrum.tumblr.com/post/130016861398/josephjtoye-you-could-be-sad-about-your-otp-but

The smell of burning wafted through from the kitchen, and to say that Clint was concerned, well, that might have been something of an understatement. He doubled his pace, reaching the door in record time, and was somewhat relieved that - aside from a smudge of something white and powdery on his cheek, likely flour, Pietro seemed entirely fine.

The kitchen, however, was another matter entirely. The sink was piled high, batter mix coating much of the walls and worktop on the side nearest the hob, and Clint managed to spy at least two broken eggs on the floor at Pietro’s feet. Clint entered cautiously, his presence not going unnoticed as Pietro turned to offer him a winning smile, tipping something small and mostly black onto a plate that already held several similar charred objects.

“I wanted to make you breakfast.” He offered by way of explanation, looking almost shy and certainly more than a little hopeful as he placed the plate down at the table. Clint eyed it for a moment before sitting, feeling how the speedster hovered around him, waiting and hoping and it was almost enough to break his heart.

“Thanks, kid.” Clint turned to smile up at Pietro, who seemed to be vibrating slightly in place, grinning back. Turning his attention back to the pile of - Clint assumed pancakes, but he could have been wrong - the archer reasoned that he had eaten worse and tucked in eagerly.

They were burned, he found pieces of egg shell and one held a clump of flour, and they tasted pretty awful, but it was breakfast and Pietro had made it for him. Especially for him.

Clint thought it was perhaps the best meal he had ever eaten.


	2. One putting their ridiculous music on in the car and singing along while the other sits in the passenger seat with their head in their hands

Road trips were not Pietro’s favourite. Being confined to such a small space for so long was truly nightmarish for the hyperactive speedster, particularly when he was easily faster than the car itself. He would, if he could, quite happily run the whole way, but even his stamina had its limits and a hundred and forty-five miles of dusty, deserted roads was pushing it somewhat.

“Are we there yet?” He grumbled from the passenger seat, wondering if Clint would be happy to pull over again so that he could run at least a short distance, racing against the car, though his legs were still aching from the last burst of exercise. Clint simply glanced at him from the corner of his eye and made a noncommittal noise. Not that Pietro blamed him, really; he had asked that question at least sixteen times in as many minutes, it was a wonder the archer hadn’t put an arrow in him yet.

They passed a gas station, rusted and only barely standing but still functional, then back to the expanse of nothing and desert. Clint leaned forward and flicked on the radio, something classical spilling from the slightly crackly speakers of the old car for a moment before he fiddled with the tuner to find something more suitable.

Rock? No, clearly not what he was looking for. Jazz? Clint skipped straight past that one. Metal? Pietro would have stuck with that, but no. Finally, Clint settled on a station, the final few bars of something by Queen filling the enclosed space for barely a few seconds before the soothing tones of the radio presenter took their place, announcing the next song. Pietro wasn’t really listening, staring out of the window, watching what might have been a vulture circle some way above them.

He started in his seat as Waterloo began to play, cringing and turning to Clint, his look turning to one of horror as he realised that Clint had begun to sing along.

Clint was singing along to ABBA and he was stuck in the car with him. Pietro let his head drop into his hands with a groan; it was going to be an exceptionally long trip.


	3. The two of them going down to the beach and one getting sunburned really badly so the other slathers them with aloe gel when they get home

It wasn’t often that the Avengers could get together, all of them, and do something fun. Usually it was an hour or two between missions, where they might be able to sit down for a meal, or an evening in front of the television, with half of them mostly asleep while something the rest likely didn’t want to watch played on the large plasma screen. Every now and then, though, the stars aligned and they could do something, really do something.

The sun was high in the sky when they finally arrived at the beach, nearing midday and hot enough to burn, particularly for someone as pale as Pietro. Wanda had taken extra care in applying his suncream before he had been allowed to step foot on the sand - factor 50, she had insisted, his objections going ignored and his plea for a tan earning little more than a raised eyebrow. The experiments had made them both more susceptible to the sun’s rays, and she was not going to take any chances where her brother was concerned.

Stark was already laid out on a sun lounger by the time Pietro whizzed past, throwing a comment back at the billionaire about him ‘slumming it’ as he raced towards the ocean. Wanda merely rolled her eyes at him and settled down beside Natasha, who had set up a parasol to keep the worst of the heat off, the pair instantly turning in to one another to speak in hushed tones.

The Captain had taken it upon himself to begin work on what had started life as a very modest sand castle, until Thor had joined in and it was now looking more like a fort, including a moat and, somehow, a drawbridge. Banner was poking at something in a rockpool, talking animatedly with the Vision, and Pietro knew better than to ask, knowing that an over-complex explanation of the local wildlife and how interesting it was would likely follow.

Clint was already in the water some way out, and it did not take Pietro long to join him, making a show of splashing the older man as he arrived, laughter bubbling up from his chest as Clint dove at him, knocking them both under, firm lips on his own halting the otherwise inevitable flow of salt water.

When they surfaced, they were both panting and slightly flushed, Pietro’s hands still firmly clasped around Clint’s backside, keeping them pressed together. He was just leaning in for another kiss, wondering just how much he could get away with, when a near tidal-wave of water splashed them both in the face, leaving them spluttering.

“Alright love birds, break it up, there’s ladies present.” Pietro turned to half-glare at Sam, who was laughing at them some few feet away. Clint looked at least somewhat embarrassed but chose not to pull away, holding onto the speedster until Pietro surged out of his arms, sending his own attack back and missing spectacularly, Sam laughing harder still as he swam a little further out.

The water fight quickly descended into all-out war, Clint and Pietro teaming up on Sam for a while, before Pietro grew bored of that and turned his next attack on his lover. “And I thought you loved me.” Barton sputtered, mock-hurt, splashing Pietro back, leaving himself open to Sam.

“All is fair in love and war.” Pietro responded easily, ducking under the water and out of sight before resurfacing behind Sam and dunking him under the water.

“Clint!” A call from the shore got their attention, barely audible, and turning he found Wanda waving at them. When had they gotten so far out? He shook the thought off and began to swim easily back to shore, still grinning when his feet hit sand. “Natasha would like to speak with you, I do not know what about.” He did not miss the slight narrowing of her eyes at him, and he pondered on it for a moment, before shrugging it off and heading to sit under the shade of the parasol.

Pietro watched him go with mild curiosity, before another splash to the side of the head had his attention again. The fight was back on.

They remained in the water for close to an hour, before heading to shore as well, arguing amicably about who had truly won their battle, Sam finally leaving to join Steve and Thor - their sand castle now an entire city complex - while Pietro wandered over to Clint who had stretched out on a towel beside Natasha, dozing in the afternoon heat.

“I hope you do not mind if I join you?” Pietro asked the Widow as he approached, keeping his voice low so that he would not wake his lover.

“Not at all, I had intended on finding your sister anyway.” With a smile, Natasha stood, brushing herself down before walking off without a backwards glance. Pietro did not need telling twice, dragging what had been Natasha’s towel closer to Clint, kicking the bottle of suncream out of the way so that he might curl onto his side, arm looped around Clint’s waist, warm and comfortable in the clear sunshine.

“ _Pietro!_ ” Startled awake, he sat up, accidentally elbowing Clint as he did who grunted in pain. It was late afternoon, judging by the position of the sun in the sky, and Wanda was staring at him in horror. No longer protected by the parasol, the shade it offered having moved some hours previous, Pietro had to squint up at his sister, feeling a slight prickling down one side.

“What? What has happened?”

“Look at your arm!” He did look, then, his right arm pale and slightly mottled from the pressure of having slept laying upon it, while the other could have been mistaken for a lobster. Clint’s laughter behind him drew his ire, and he glared at the archer, who only laughed harder.

The trip back to the tower was hell; only a half hour away by jet, and yet to Pietro it seemed so much longer. He had to sit slightly forward in his seat, his back badly burnt, and the back of his left leg stung horribly where it was pressed to the seat. Once they were back, he retreated to his rooms, embarrassed by his oversight and the pain making him irritable. 

“Pietro?” A knock at the door, and for a moment Pietro thought not to answer, curled up on his bed and feeling more than a little sorry for himself. He had, apparently, curled around Clint in his sleep, pressed against the archer’s side, which had protected his stomach but left his back and left side of his body entirely exposed. He hadn’t bothered dressing again after they left, the thought of wearing anything aside from the loose swimming trunks making him wince. The knock came again, and Pietro forced himself to stand, walking to answer it rather than running.

“What?” Throwing open the door, he glared at Clint, who was still trying desperately not to laugh.  
“A peace offering.” The archer replied, holding up a bottle of some clear-green liquid and raising his eyebrows expectantly.

“Am I supposed to know what that is?” Pietro snapped, almost shutting the door in Clint’s face, if not for the firm hand upon the wooden surface.

“No, but if you let me in I’ll show you.” With a sigh of exasperation, Pietro stepped back from the door, returning to his bed and curling up once more, facing the wall. He heard the click of the door closing, felt the bed dip behind him and might, at any other time, have made a lewd comment. He was still annoyed at his boyfriend, though, and so all Clint got was silence. “This is going to feel cold, alright?” It was the only warning he got before gentle fingers and gentler palms pressed against his back, and Clint had been right; it was exceedingly cold. Pietro flinched to start off with, but the cooling gel on his hot skin felt wonderful, and before long he was sighing into Clint’s touch.

“What is that?” He finally asked with a hum, the aching burn less prominent as Clint moved to pay the same attention to his arm, his leg, and finally the side of his face.

“Aloe gel. It’s pretty good for burns, better than the over-priced aftersun products you can get, anyway.” Clint was running his hands over the side and back of Pietro’s neck, earning small sighs from the speedster. “Didn’t you put any more suncream on after you came out the water?”

“Wanda put some on me when we got there, I do not understand why I am burnt.”

“It washes off in the water, and you were in there a while.” There was a note of sympathy in Clint’s voice, any mocking amusement gone, and Pietro almost voiced his frustration when those cooling hands left his skin.

“I shall try to remember that for next time.” Pulling at Clint’s arm, Pietro maneuvered him so that the archer lay before him on the bed, lacing his undamaged fingers with Clint’s and choosing to simply lay there for a while.


	4. One getting home from work later than the other and stretching out on top of them like a big lazy cat while they sit on the couch in front of the tv

Pietro hated it when Clint was late back from a mission. He would worry, would fret, and every time it happened he could not help but think the worst. It was after the sixth time that Clint had started texting him when he was on his way back, appeasing some of the worry, and effectively preventing Pietro from flinging himself at the archer the instant he walked through the door, or remaining awake for three days straight just in case.

He wasn’t usually that late back, but it had happened.

_‘I’m at the airport, flight leaves soon, I’ll text you when I land. Love you’_

_‘Got delayed, now I know why I don’t take public transport if I can help it!’_

_‘On my way back now, see you in an hour, don’t wait up’_

He had waited up, of course, the TV tuned to one of the channels that plays cartoons twenty-four seven, laying on his front on the long couch in their living room. Pietro had just started to doze off, despite himself, when he heard a key turn in the lock and the door click open, before closing again. There was the thud of a bag on the floor and a bone-weary sigh as Clint wandered through to the living room, looking bone-tired, smiling as Pietro waved lazily from his spot on the sofa.

“Sorry I’m late.” There was no explanation, but then there never was, and Pietro was used to that by now. Clint kicked off his boots, shucked off his jacket and crawled clumsily over his lover, laying his head between Pietro’s shoulder blades, pressing him into the soft couch cushions.

Pietro did not mind too much; Clint was always like this after missions, always seeking that contact, the reassurance, that everything was fine, he was home and Pietro was still there, still safe. It was fine, and he quite liked the extra weight at his back as Clint’s breathing evened in exhausted sleep.


	5. One inexplicably bringing home an animal and refusing to drop it at the shelter so they and the other have to take care of it

“No, Pietro.”

“But-”

“ _No!_ ” Clint crossed his arms over his chest, Pietro standing in the open doorway, a tiny kitten in his hands, two sets of huge, round eyes staring at him.

“But he was all alone, I could not leave him.”

“Then we take it to a shelter.”

“No!” Pietro snapped, with enough venom that Clint took a step back, surprised. “I know what your ‘shelters’ do, and they do not shelter. Either he stays, or I will leave.” He set his jaw, and Clint knew that there was no reasoning with the speedster when he was in this sort of mood.

“Fine.” He replied with a resigned sigh. “Fine, but only if Lucky takes to it, and only once you’ve taken it to see a vet to make sure it doesn’t have anything nasty, agreed?” He wasn’t prepared for the speedster to suddenly lurch forward, crossing the room in a heartbeat and kissing him deeply. Neither had the poor kitten either, it seemed, as it vomited whatever it had last eaten down the front of Clint’s jacket.

The visit to the vets was interesting for two reasons. Firstly, every single person in the waiting room was staring at them intently, and Clint could hear muttered whispers of ‘Avengers’ from those who sat waiting to be called. One woman even tried to slip Clint her number, earning a glare from Pietro, who did not much like sharing it seemed.

The second reason did not surface until they were in with the vet, the woman checking the kitten over for any obvious injuries and suggesting a round of antibiotics for a small gum infection. “She will be fine in a few days.” The vet had smiled, taking a small blood sample for testing.

“Wait, ‘she’?” Clint asked, surprised, Pietro seemingly too interested in the way the kitten had darted over to him as soon as the vet had let her go, all but climbing up his chest to get away from the mean lady with the needles.

“Yes, she’s female.” The vet turned her back, labelling and storing the sample before making notes on a little booklet. “She’s had her first set of shots, the second set will be due in three weeks and she’ll need bringing back if you don’t intend to breed from her so that we can get her spayed. She should be big enough for that in a month or so, I’d say.”

“Oh, thanks.” Clint murmured, taking the booklet from the vet and ushering Pietro out, still cuddling the little tabby.

As it turned out, Clint need not have worried; Lucky took to the little kitten straight away, laying on the floor with his tail thumping against the wood as the tiny thing puffed up, making Clint laugh as she tried to look as menacing as a ten week old kitten can. Lucky followed the little kitten around like a doting uncle, whining whenever Pietro picked her up for a cuddle, letting her eat from his bowl when neither of the resident humans were looking and curling around her as she slept.

“I have decided.” It was almost two weeks since the visit to the vets, and Pietro had spent rather more time with her than he had with Clint, which was nice in that it meant the speedster did not get lonely if Clint had to go out, but he could not help but feel slightly alienated in his own home, which was rather ridiculous he decided, it was a kitten.

“Decided what?” Clint murmured around a mouthful of cereal, feeling the tug of claws on his sock and wriggling his toes so she could attack them under the table.

“I shall call her Tiger.” Pietro looked somewhat pleased with himself, and Clint did not have it in him to argue, merely humming around the next mouthful of his breakfast as Tiger proceeded to climb his jeans so that she might settle herself in his lap, purring softly.


	6. The both of them going out to a park and getting ice cream to sit with and eat on a bench

“I am bored.” Pietro whined, sprawled across the couch while Clint poured over documents that he had spread across the coffee table, trying to discern the information he needed from them.

“Nothing new there then.” Clint grumbled by way of reply, earning a foot to the back of his head. Not kicking, just pushing gently and he reached back to grab Pietro’s ankle, pushing the sock down so he could kiss the protruding bone.

He wasn’t certain how Pietro had been able to talk him away from his work, but somehow he had, strolling happily through the park at Clint’s side, hands laced together as they enjoyed the mid-afternoon sunlight. Autumn was fast approaching, but the sun was still warm on their backs, temperatures surprisingly high for the time of year. Lucky trotted along at the side of them, tongue lolling from his mouth and glancing around, never straying from Clint’s heel.

“Stay here, I’ll be right back.” Clint startled slightly, turning to catch Pietro’s grin before the speedster was gone, leaving he and Lucky standing in confusion in the middle of the path. A nearby bench called to him, so Clint sat and waited, Lucky sitting himself before the archer and resting his head on Clint’s knee. They did not have to wait long before Pietro was back, jogging up rather than returning at speed, three ice cream cones in his hands and the same grin upon his face.

“Three?” Clint asked quizically as Pietro sat beside him, handing him one.

“Lucky needs one as well.” Pietro replied, offering the plain one to the dog who thumped his tail on the ground and set to licking the ice cream from the top of the cone.

“He shouldn’t really have that.” Not that it mattered overly; most of the cone was already gone, and all of the ice cream, until Lucky sat licking his muzzle, a pleased look upon his face.

“You do not allow him enough treats.” Pietro grumbled, his own ice cream melting down his hand, paying too much attention to the dog. He cursed softly when he realised, looking up as Clint took hold of his wrist, running a hot tongue up Pietro’s ice cream-covered fingers, keeping eye contact the entire time. Pietro’s breath caught in his throat as he watched, lips parted and a light flush covering his cheeks as that sinful mouth sucked and lapped at his fingers, still clasped around the cone.

“It’s melting.” Clint pulled away, nodding to the remaining ice cream before turning away to finish his own, seemingly more interested in a family strolling along some distance away than in the state he had left his boyfriend.

“No shit.” Pietro found he did not much want his ice cream any more, but finished it regardless, before dragging Clint up off the bench and home again, the older man making sure to take his time and enjoy the scenery as they walked, much to Pietro’s increasing frustration.


	7. One sending memes to the other while they’re at work so much they turn their phone off in exasperation

It started with an image; a simple scene, nothing particularly interested, the text under it stating _‘when you see it, you will shit bricks’_. Clint stared at the photo for a moment, squinted at it, but nothing seemed out of place, or he didn’t get the reference, so he closed it and focused back on what Steve was saying. The meeting was boring, but he needed to listen, to take note, there was no telling when the information might be of some use.

Two minutes later, his phone buzzed again; a cat, this time, with another slogan. Cute, he thought with a small smirk.

Three more messages, all cats, all with oddly spelt little messages attached to them. He didn’t get it, not really, the strange fascination Pietro had with cats on the internet. He had one of his own, couldn’t he just take photographs of her?

The next message, at least, was of someone he recognised; Keanu Reeves, and he tried to place the movie, the message stating _‘what if cats have their own internet...and it’s full of pictures of us’_.

_‘Please stop, I’m in a meeting.’_

Pietro didn’t stop, though. The next photo was of a crudely drawn man laughing. Then a Velociraptor with the text _‘If FE=iron, then does female=Iron Man?’_ He actually snorted at that one, earning a curious look that might have carried some warning from Natasha from across the table, though no one said anything.

Next there was a wolf. Then a baby. By the time the next cat one arrived, Clint was feeling somewhat harassed and, with the eyes of at least three of the team on him, he pressed and held the power button on his phone until the screen went black. Pietro wouldn’t be happy with him, but he would deal with it later.

“Is there a problem, Clint?” Cap had, apparently, just noticed Clint’s lack of interest in the meeting and was frowning slightly at him.

“Not any more.” Clint replied smoothly, though he could not help the light dusting of pink that coloured his cheeks at having been caught out. Pietro would pay dearly for that later; Clint knew where he hid his chocolate stash.


	8. One giving the other their jacket and not getting it back from the other until it stops smelling like them

“You have been skipping meals again.” Pietro frowned at Clint, who shivered beside him as they headed back to the Quinjet. The wind was bracing cutting through Clint’s uniform as though it was nothing, Pietro having at least the foresight to have brought a jacket with him. He had, of course, slipped it off when he noticed Clint’s discomfort, forcing the archer to wear it, not expecting it to fit the man who had always been much larger than the svelte runner.

“I’ve been busy.” Clint protested, curling into the warm coat, the fabric carrying the faint scent of Pietro with it. He noticed the scathing look he got from the younger man and let his gaze drop to the floor. “Sorry, I know, I need to take better care of myself.”

“You’re older than me, you should already know this.” Pietro chided, wrapping an arm around Clint and holding him close as they boarded the jet. Natasha decided she would fly them back, and with how much Clint was still shivering that was perhaps not such a bad idea.

Winter was not far off, and Pietro was starting to feel the bite of cold when he went out to run or to fetch milk or whatever small task he needed to fulfil. After their last mission, his coat - his only coat for the moment - had mysteriously vanished, though he had a sneaking suspicion as to where it might be. The tower was not a large building, not when you could run as fast as he, and yet he managed to locate it on his first try, slipping unnoticed into Clint’s rooms.

The archer was home, it seemed, from the noise of the television in the living area and the low snores coming from the sofa. Easing himself around, he found Clint curled up in Pietro’s coat, nose pressed into the fabric. His eyes were moving behind closed eyelids, dreaming perhaps, but they appeared to be good dreams and Pietro did not much want to disturb them, so he left just as quietly.

He tried three more times to retrieve his coat, each time finding Clint wearing it, or both it and the archer missing from the tower. In the end, Pietro decided enough was enough; he needed a coat, had no intention of buying another and Clint would not give him his back, so he compensated.

Clint’s jacket was much too large for him, but it was warm and heavy around his shoulders, fake fur shielding his face whenever he had the hood up. It was not practical for running in, but then neither was his own really, and he kept it anyway. If Clint noticed, he never mentioned it.

“Here.” It had been unexpected, the day Clint handed him his jacket back, and Pietro simply looked at it in confusion. “It doesn’t smell like you any more.” There was a touch of pink to Clint’s cheeks as he left, and Pietro watched him go with unbridled curiosity. Without thinking, he shrugged the jacket on, pausing as a familiar scent accosted him and he smiled, breathing in the new smell of the fabric, _Clint’s_ scent.

He slept in it that night.


End file.
